


Meetings

by pseudofaux



Category: Samurai Love Ballad: PARTY
Genre: Beastsuhide is my favorite Mitsuhide, Beastsuhide makes a tiiiiiiiiny appearance here, Brains, F/M, HA "brains", Higher Education, I don't cover a lot of Mitsuhide doing the doting but it is HAPPENING in this world, I mean WOULDN'T Mitsuhide be a college dean? UNF, Kagehide can call me anytime too but Beastsuhide mmmmmm, Modern AU, doting lovers who dote, married people in luurrrrrrv, not a drop of angst i promise, office bj, post it love notes, rich grown ups, this only works with desks that have a large hollow underneath the surface
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-02-12 06:23:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12953241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudofaux/pseuds/pseudofaux
Summary: Poor Mitsuhide. Well, sort of. His wife looks out for him. They look out for each other. But some days runnin' everything for the college of letters and sciences takes it out of a guy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No spoilers! No angst! Just happy, super comfortably well-off, highly educated, super in love people, one of whom gets a blow job under his desk. A LOVE blow job.
> 
> (Thanks to everyone on the SLBP discord server, and to RubyLeeRay and Karalija, as usual!)

Akechi Mitsuhide tried his best, always. Including making sure he was ready for work in the morning and had everything he needed.

But. If he was foolish or rushed enough to leave something he needed at home, his wife was always gracious enough to bring it to work with her later that morning. They’d have a sweet, teasing phone call and arrange to meet up on campus so he could get it. She worked for the university’s school of nursing and he was the dean of the college of letters and sciences. So it was easy to meet during the day. Walk one of the tiny garden paths between buildings, admire nature while holding hands. They were respectable. Comfortable. Sweet on one another. His secretary and his wife adored each other. They certainly got to talk often enough.

There had been a day where he was so flustered from waking up to a thrice-snoozed alarm (she had worn _that_ dress to a foundation dinner the night before, and they had been up correspondingly late) he ran out the door as soon as he possibly could to make the train just in time to catch his first meeting of the day.

Without a tie, or his satchel.

But she was waiting for him in his office when he arrived there after the meeting. She presented him with a bagel, too, toasted just as he preferred and with the right amount of cream cheese on it and still warm in the napkins she’d wrapped it in at home. She looped his tie around his neck with sure hands, smoothing it gently against his chest when she was done. She told him she loved him and to have a good day. And then she sauntered... because it could only be called a saunter, and if she could walk at all after the night before a saunter was certainly appropriate, out of his office to go about her own day.

And his whole heart, his whole body, sighed in happiness to love and be loved by her. Their partnership was so solid. They were really in a happy place.

* * *

Then there had been another morning when he hadn’t realized his laptop wasn’t in the satchel before leaving; somehow the weight of several folios in its place had comparable heft. When he got to his office after yet another first-thing-in-the-morning meeting with Provost Oda and learned of his mistake, he considered just operating from the desktop all day. As he turned to the monitor, he saw a post-it note with familiar writing.

_Check under your desk, darling. Xoxo._

There was his laptop, with a granola bar and a bottle of coffee resting on top of it. His body got goosebumps and the most delicious warmth, knowing she had been here not long ago, knowing that his wife took the best care of him that she could. He needed to do better for both their sakes, but the comfort of knowing someone was always there for him was so very reassuring.

He sent her flowers. The florist was very familiar with him and what he liked to send his wife, and took his order with an obvious smile in her voice. That night at home Tsumime called for him to please bring her a robe, and when he opened the door, petals were floating on her bathwater.

The two of them made a terrible mess of the ensuite. God, he loved her so. And he felt relieved and reassured every day that he trusted she loved him, too, made it so obvious through the care she took of him and of them.

* * *

 

After that, she would hide presents under his desk from time to time, always leaving a post-it on his monitor or phone or a little doodle and smile on the date on his desk calendar. The presents would be things he had forgotten, or poems she had written for him, or a packed lunch of his favorite treats. Always wonderful, always very her, always very them.

* * *

 

Today’s meeting with all the other deans had been long and particularly hard to get through. The bunch usally worked well together, but this morning… something had been off. He was unsettled and worried when he returned to his office. He greeted his secretary with a tired smile.

“Welcome back, Mr. Akechi. Can I get you anything?”

“Good morning, Hidemitsu. No, thank you."

He stopped halfway between Hide's desk and the door to his office.

"Er—actually, could you try to get Tsumime on the phone, please?”

“Ah…” His secretary’s face looked pained. Usually Mitsuhide would stop and make sure everything was alright, but this morning had just been too heavy. He waved off his own request with a casual “It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” and opened the door to his office.

He hung up his coat on the rack and sat down on the firm sofa just inside the door. It took less than a minute to realize this was an not a problem he could think through, he needed to work it through. He should email the holdouts from this morning’s meeting and see what assurances they needed to proceed confidently. So he got up, rolled his shoulders, and moved to his desk.

He glanced at the messages Hide had left in a neat pile on his desk before laying his thumb on the monitor’s sensor to turn it on. He sat down and had his fingers on the keys before he thought maybe, _maybe_ , she might have stopped by with a present earlier. She always seemed to know. If not, it would be no disappointment—her gifts were always appreciated but unexpected—but… it had been a difficult morning, and he just... wanted to check. He felt foolish but decided to let himself peek.

So he pushed back his chair, enough to be able to peek under his desk.

A pair of sweet, dark eyes flashed back at him, above the smile he loved best in all the world. He was glad he had looked!

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, my dear,” he said, meaning every word. Her smile grew.

“I love you,” she said. “Umeko told me the meeting didn’t go so well this morning. Are you okay?”

“I love you. Sweetheart, won’t you come out from under th—hey!”

She had come forward a bit, not entirely out from under the desk but now her beautiful face was in the light, looking at him with an expression of complete care and radiant love. And her palms were on the tops of his thighs with a promise of a different kind of complete care. And radiant love. Not the flowery kind, but very intensely felt.

“No, my darling, I think I’ll stay right here for a few minutes.”

She had his trousers unzipped and unfastened, and his cock out in the air and then in her mouth and hands before his brain could quite compute again.

_God, it was warm._

_God, it was so comfortable and thrilling._

_God, he wanted to wrap her perfectly curled ponytail around his wrist and hold her head and fuck. her. face._

**_NO!_ **

“Sweetheart,” he tried again, voice a squeak, a rasp, unfamiliar to him.

“Thi-this is so good. But you... d-don’t have to _oh my god_ …”

She was doing something delicate with her teeth along the lower ridge of his shaft, something new and wonderful. But then her mouth was gone from him, and he, so proud of his self-control, actually whined.

“Mr. Akechi,” she said sweetly, all deference. His cock twitched when he heard her call him that, and the movement did not escape her notice, eyes drifting down to watch and then back up to his.

“I would never do anything I did not want to do. And I very much”

She moved her mouth closer to the head of him. He held his breath.

“...want to do...”

The flat of her tongue went from the base of his cock to the tip. It was only the complete power of her eyes, locked with his, that kept him from throwing back his head.

“...this.” She hissed the word but it was a sweet sound, and the little kiss she placed on the tip of his cock had his own mouth forming a grin—

Until she pushed her open mouth onto him, and he hit the back of her throat, and she hummed around him, and he nearly died on a groan.

Mitsuhide murmured her name, breathing erratically. He brought a hand to her hair but just let it rest. It would not be safe to thread his fingers through her hair, wouldn’t do to mess it up—and he would—or lose control and push her down against his crotch.

She held him in her throat like she was keeping him safe. And in a way she was. Only his Tsumime could manage so earthy an act as a clear effort of love.

“Darling,” he said with extreme effort, “I’m—nnh—very, very grateful for this.”

She brought her head back.

“I know, Mitsuhide,” she said softly. And then she kissed his length, and then kisses turned to long, slow licks, and then she took him back into her mouth and treated him with care he could never deserve.

It was the most careful (the sense of being full of care only. They were in his _office_!) blow job he had ever received. It could only be ranked evenly with all the other presents she would ever hide under his desk, because they were gifts of her regard for him, and there was no putting things that precious in order.

He stuttered her name as her magic brought him close. He knew he would wreck her beautiful hair if he didn’t move his hand right that minute, so he did, both hands now on the arms of his chair.

“Honey,” she said around him, “it’s alright. I love you, and I want to help you relax.”

God, this woman.

“I-I think I would get rough, and I don’t want to, here.”

Her eyes showed him her sweet smile when her mouth could not. “Okay.”

She drew his orgasm from him with the gentle dedication of a dream. Before his mind went blank he resolved return this favor as soon as she would let him. And make her dinner. It was her night to make dinner, right? So he could do that. And buy tickets to that symphony. And take a day off next month and ask her to do the same so they could spend special time together.

Tsumime didn’t always swallow—he never expected her to—but this time she made a show of it, showing him the milkiness on her tongue before closing her mouth and swallowing. And fuck if she didn’t even make _that_ look as elegant as ballet.

She used her mouth to clean him up and then nuzzled her cheek against the inside of one of his thighs as she tucked his manhood back into his clothes and refastened his trousers.

“Tsumime,” he breathed, feeling safe now to stroke her hair, “You are the best thing in my world.”

“As you are in mine,” she said, pushing up on her knees and reaching to pull him to her kiss. He rested his forehead against hers when they were done, and then helped her stand up.

“I love you,” he said when she was in his arms, stroking her back in their usual matched rhythm of the soothing gesture.

“Oh, sweetheart, I know. I love you, too. I’m sorry it was a tough meeting.”

“…What?”

She pulled back from him with a silly expression. “Your meeting this morning?”

He colored. He had honestly forgotten, and confessed as much. She laughed with delight that made him want to fight dragons to give her anything, everything she ever desired.

“I’m going to go to my own office now. I hope your day gets better,” she said, cupping his cheek.

Laying his hand over hers, he replied “I am honestly not sure how it could be improved at the moment.”

His wife glanced at the sofa in his office. “I have any idea,” she whispered saucily, “but I’ll save it for the next bad meeting. And may it be a long time in coming.”

He could not help pulling her to him by her waist, pushing his groin to her body. She knew exactly what she had said, he was certain.

“A very long time,” he said, a heavy, beautiful promise. Her smile widened.

“I love you, Mitsuhide.”

“I love you, Tsumime. Thank you.”

She parted from his body slowly, and gave him a little wave.

And then she was gone.

He returned to his desk chair, relaxed but already missing her.

There was a note on his monitor that had absolutely not been there before he found her.

_A small gift under the desk for you. I love you always._

Mitsuhide pressed a kiss to the paper before tucking it in his shirt pocket, counting himself the luckiest man on the planet.

A box was indeed leaning against the paneling that made up the deskfront. He got out of his chair to kneel and reach for it, breathing in deeply to try to catch wind of her perfume. No luck, sadly. As he fished the little box out he wondered what might be inside—she didn’t like to give gift cards, and that was the type of box she had left him.

The box, he realized, did smell very much like her, so much so that she had to have used her perfume on it. He breathed in deeply and then sat the box on the surface of his desk and sat himself down to open it with proper ceremony.

He shimmied the lid off and set it to the side. The fine tissue paper she’d folded over whatever little treasure she had left for him made him smile. His wife had the best eye for these details. He moved the paper, curious.

And then he went pale. And then his pulse spiked. Skyrocketed, really. His mouth was as dry as he could ever remember it being, and his pants were much too tight. Everything felt too tight.

The phone chirped, and he nearly jumped, covering the box with his hands like a guilty child.

Hide's voice, back to his normal pleasant professionalism: “Mr. Akechi, Mr. Toyotomi is calling. Are you available?”


	2. Follow Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turnabout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for wanting to know what was in the box. I was sure everyone would chuckle and roll their eyes but it really seems to have struck a nerve!

“Sweetheart?” Tsumime’s voice in his cell phone was pleasant but concerned. “Is everything alright?”

“Dear,” he said, prim and stern and flustered in equal measure, “You-you left your _panties_ underneath my desk!”

“Did I?” she sounded shocked.

“Well, someone did,” he grumbled, “And they smell just like you.”

“You would know,” she mused.

“Sweetheart!” he whispered into the phone. “You aren’t… how are you getting any work done?!”

She laughed, the sound alighting in his heart like a perfect verse. “Why Mr. Akechi, I am very dedicated to my work. Whatever do you mean?”

“How are you working without any panties on?!” his hushed demand was fierce, coming from the part of his bloodstream that was on full simmer. When there was no clinical instruction, she wore businesswear, and he had seen the proof in his office not long ago. She had on a skirt and stockings.

Stockings. Which mean the seam up the middle was…

_God give him strength._

“I would like to return them to you,” he said. “Personally.”

“Well, my darling, it's always a treat to see you when our schedules allow.”

* * *

They arranged to meet in her office at the start of the lunch hour. Mitsuhide greeted his wife’s secretary with a smile he hoped was more gracious than pressed.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Akechi, it’s nice to see you," Umeko offered pleasantly. "Tsumime is finishing a call but she said it was alright for you to go on in."

Wasn’t that a thrilling thought.

He offered Umeko a better smile and opened the door to his wife’s office.

Tsumime was sitting on her desk, legs crossed at her ankles… those ankles. He wanted to hold them. He wanted them crossed behind his body.

He really needed to calm down.

She was on the phone, and she covered the receiver with her hand and mouthed “Hello,” before nodding to the small sitting area. Her office was like his but different: the same trappings but hers were more comfortable, more welcoming. He remembered her telling him about a third year student weeping on the settee.

“Mmhmm,” Tsumime mused into her call.

He was very tempted to interrupt, but knew that her work was important to her and she would prefer it was respected. It was one of the things that had deepened his regard for her early on. She was kind but almost ruthlessly competent, and she took what she did seriously.

He unbuttoned his coat while he waited, and set the little box next to her on her desk. She gave him a sweet smile that matched the one he’d gotten to see earlier that day, and he moved away before doing something… drastic.

She concluded her phone call, returning whomever was on the other line to Umeko to set an appointment.

“Good afternoon, sweetheart,” she said softly. Guileless.

Ah. _That_ game.

“Tsumime,” he said sternly, advancing toward her again. “I do not know what to do with you.”

“Oh, I have every confidence that you do, darling,” she teased. Promised.

_God._

He was beside her now, close enough to kiss the top of her head. He did, and took in a deep breath through his nostrils. The feminine scent of her conditioner, sunflower and something rich, calmed him a little. This was a home smell, a smell that was intimate and alluring in soft ways. Just like her.

Mitsuhide put a hand on his wife’s desk beside her hip and sought out her hand. She linked their little fingers.

“Tsumime,” he tried again, going for admonishing but failing miserably. He was too excited.

He moved their hands to tap the little box.

“I don’t know how you could possibly work without your… unmentionables on,” he confessed, feeling at once invigorated and old.

She stifled a laugh with her free hand.

“My knight in shining armor. There’s no need to worry, Mitsuhide, I’ve had a very productive morning.”

His eyes darkened right along with hers. Were they going to do this? At first he had only wanted to bring them back to her and tease one another but after this morning, it seemed like office sex (!) might be an actual possibility. This morning was the closest they’d gotten to it. They really did both take their work seriously.

But this, of course, was the lunch hour.

He said her name again, a quiet moan.

“You were so sweet earlier, darling. May I be sweet to you now?”

Her eyebrows went up. She did not look displeased. Only a little surprised.

“You’re always sweet to me,” she cooed. “And you know I love it, so please go right ahead.”

She brought his hand to her far hip, and made space for him between her legs. He took the step over and held her against his chest, hoping she would feel the powerful thump of his heart. It beat for her more than for anything else in the world.

He wanted to hear her heartbeat, too. And there was one place that was exceptional—even for her body—for that purpose.

“Tsumime,” he whispered, one hand moving forward and low on her body, “You really were so sweet. Why so shockingly inappropriate now?”

She hummed as his hand reached the hem of her skirt. It wasn’t quite rucked, but it was certainly up a bit, and with her thighs spread it sat higher than it normally would.

“I don’t think there’s anything inappropriate about sharing lunch with my husband,” she said throatily.

One of these days she would kill him with that bemused, sweet voice.

But before she did…

He walked his fingers along the inside of one of her thighs.

“I suppose there’s nothing that specifically references this in the employee manual,” he conceded, stroking the warm net of her stockings with his thumb. Her little quivers were exactly what he wanted. For now.

“You’d know,” she responded, but her voice was quieter and far hazier than the last time she’d spoken. “You wrote it.”

“Mmm,” he nodded against her neck before nuzzling her in earnest. “Perhaps a revision is in order,” he murmured. “Employees caught not wearing underwear will be subject to discipline.”

She trembled. He did, too. His thumb slowly, slowly moved toward her core.

“What kind of discipline would that sort of infraction merit?” she asked on a quiet moan.

“That is the question,” Mitsuhide said noncommittally. He was very close to the seam that had been practically haunting his morning. This was such delicious play he almost wanted to draw it out, but felt certain he would break something in her office if he did not get _there_ soon. To feel her through stockings would be new. The texture of hose on her legs was always so pleasurable, what on earth would it feel like over… over…

“And the statute would only—nnngh, _honey_ —only apply if the employee was not wearing any ‘underwear’, you say?”

He growled against her throat before he could stop himself.

“You’re a terrible tease, darling,” he managed to bite out.

“Says the one talking minutiae,” her voice was aimed at the ceiling, airy but far more passionate than her earlier breezy tone.

He was so close he could feel the swell of her bottom against the tip of his thumb as he stroked the join of her leg to her body. Even sitting on her desk, the swells of her form were undeniable.

So was his desire to touch her.

But.

He went still.

...she wasn’t naked underneath her stockings.

“Dear?” he asked.

She started shaking with giggles.

“I took the pair I left you off before you got to your office. I put these,” she rocked her hips toward his hand, “on as soon as I got to my own office.”

He just blinked for a minute, staring at the crisp line of her blouse collar before he could form words.

“But…”

Nope, not ready to form words yet.

He tried again.

“But, Tsumime…” his voice dropped, scandalized and thrilled and very, very hungry for her, “they were _soaked_.”

“That’s why I had to take them off, darling,” she said through her smile. She looked triumphant but wasn’t crowing.

He moved back to meet her eyes.

“I want to feast on you,” he said boldly. Her face became a lovely picture of mild surprise again. He was looking so intensely into her eyes that he could see her pupils dilating as she breathed. He did not look away even to watch her tongue wet her lips.

“It is lunchtime,” she managed, the sound of her words the only one in her office.

Her words made the the world pivot, and he snarled. This affection for her felt too much for his body.

He broke their eye contact to kneel before her, shoving his hands forward to find the waistband of her stockings and tugging them down. He had more than half a mind to rip them or press his finger into her through them until the threads broke, but he didn’t know if she liked this pair, and spared them out of regard for her.

She was indeed wearing underwear.

“Damn,” he muttered.

“Disappointed you can’t punish me?” she asked warmly, the pressure of her fingers along the hairline at his neck making his breath hitch.

“Oh, I’ll punish you,” he promised, eyes flicking up to hers.

“Mmm,” she wriggled on the desk. “Do it.”

And he did.

Minutes later, when she was breathing in delicate pants, and those ankles—those ankles, those ankles—were locked behind his shoulders, and two of his fingers were squelching in and out of her and his tongue was strong against her sweetest spot, he stopped abruptly.

“Don’t do this again,” he said darkly, nipping at the inside of one of her thighs, then kissing the spot.

Her face moved from displaying all her rapture to the ceiling of her office and came down to look at him. Her lower lip trembled, and her eyebrows game together in concern and contrition.

“Sweetheart, this was meant as a tease. I’m sorry. I love you. If you don’t like it, I won’t do this again.” She was so obviously trying to soothe him that he felt a little flare of victory in his chest. But he wasn’t as good at playing as she was. He wished he could be cleverer in the moment, but as soon as their interactions became intimate he usually felt like he lost the cerebral high ground.

Since he couldn’t and didn’t want to draw this out, he grumbled “ ** _Don’t_** put new panties on next time,” and nuzzled the spot he’d bitten and kissed on her leg. He felt her muscles tense as she groaned quietly.

“I understand,” she promised. He believed her.

So he turned his mouth back to the seam that better than _any_ of her stockings, _including_ the striped ones, and set to pleasuring her completely. He moved his fingers together inside her in the way she liked, tapping insistently to the left, and tongued her clit as she gasped his name prettily. She was clearly trying to keep quiet and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

He pressed the flat of his tongue against her and moved up, his nose brushing her mons. Her stutters in response to that he made a note to attempt to replicate later.

“Mitsuhide,” she begged, quiet but clear and needy.

“I love you,” he said, and he bit her as gently as he could. A thin little cry escaped his wife’s throat as she pushed herself forward to him. He squeezed her hip firmly.

“Any other panties floating around I should know about?” he demanded. He felt possessed.

She tried to laugh but the sound ended as a quiet squeak as she tried to keep it in.

“No,” she begged.

“Good,” he muttered darkly, and then he held her in place and reveled in the sounds and sensations of her clenching around his fingers as he brought her to orgasm on her desk.

On her _desk_!

Oh god, they’d done it _twice_.

He didn’t regret it, but…

She slumped forward a little, boneless and sated, her legs sliding down and off his back. He tried to clean her as well and lovingly has she had him that morning. When he was finished, he looked up to see her smiling at him fondly. A small lock of her hair had come out of the gather at the back of her head. He looped it around his finger, loving that he could see her like this.

“That was quite nice,” she said tiredly. “I’m not sure I’m worth much to the university this afternoon.”

“Would you like to go home?”

“Mmm, that would be nice… but I should probably just wake up. Snuggle me on the couch until we have to go back to real life?”

It was his pleasure and honor to carry her across the room. He returned seconds later with her discarded clothing, and watched her shamelessly while she redressed. She gave him a tired little wiggle of her hips as she pulled her panties up.

“If I ruined your stockings I will buy you another pair,” he promised.

She chuckled. “You were quite careful. But thank you.”

They settled into the soft furniture, her ear at his chest. He did not want to keep his hands off her, but gentle, appreciative caresses were perfectly satisfactory.

“I’m going to set an alarm on my phone,” he told her.

“Mmm,” was her sleepy reply. She shifted against him, snuggling more and breathing out a comfortable sigh.

They snoozed for the rest of the hour. It was the best lunch break of his life.

Until the following Thursday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END FOR REAL. I need to work on other things! But like the first chapter (that wasn't even supposed to be a chapter!), this wouldn't let go.


	3. Nighttime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsumime wakes in the night.

She woke slowly, knowing from the darkness of the room it was hours before Mitsuhide’s first alarm would sound. He lay beside her on his back, looking peaceful and handsome. Warm, weak light filtered into the bedroom from the hall, just enough that she could appreciate the shape of his features.

He was so very _strong_. She could see it even in the dimness, even as he slept hard next to her, his lips slightly parted for his breath. His fringe covered his forehead and it looked pale blue in the night. A strand nearly went to the slope of his nose. It was about time for him to get a haircut. Even in deep sleep like this, even a bit shaggier than normal, he looked noble to her.

He _was_ , Tsumime thought to herself with a smile. She propped herself up on an elbow to get a better look at him. She felt quite awake, oddly. She was usually a peaceful sleeper.

The peaceful sleeper in their bed made a quiet sigh. His work at the university was demanding, more than it should have been. He met with students, moderated Nobunaga’s brashest impulses, and advocated for the professors and staff in his college. He supported the campus libraries, all of them, even the ones serving other departments, and he was constantly doing his best. He served on committees, constantly encouraged everyone he worked with, and never lost his temper. He was so strong.

He was a proper husband in every sense, including being improper when appropriate. She thought warmly of their weekend together, feeding each other berries he’d brought home on a whim (he called it a whim, but she knew he had probably gotten the idea early in the day and been excited about it for hours)  from the organic market, reading deliberately seductive poetry to one another, and then making loud, passionate love in their bed… after making passionate love against the trunk of the widest tree in their backyard that would have been louder had he not been holding a hand over her mouth and fixing her focus on his murmurs at her ear. Ah, Mitsuhide… her legs shifted just remembering his powerful body cherishing and pushing hers. Such a quiet beast. Such a tender, attentive lover. He held her so well. So strong.

She thought he might know that she was beginning to really consider a family. It was no secret– never had been– that he was keen, but they’d had a heart to heart early in their relationship about their hopes and he had agreed to wait without pressure until she was ready. They were attuned to one another, though, and she was thinking about it often these days. She would say something soon for the sake of being clear, and the sake of making them both happy, but he might know already. These days she often found herself remembering him playing with the twin children of one of their colleagues at the campus picnic earlier in the summer. They had known him for a ready playmate, somehow, and made a beeline for him. His smile had spread so far on his face that day he’d almost been wincing, and he never said no to either child when they begged to be spun or tossed or tried to rope him into their sweet, small games. The twins’ parents had to drag them away and promise they might come to work to see Mr. Mitsuhide one day. Her ever-neat husband had grass stains on the knees of his khakis at the end of the day, and he had been mystified but unbothered when she pointed them out. His kindness, his soul, everything that made him the person she loved… he was so strong.

Some wall around her heart was breaking like a glacier, and something within her reservations was thawing like snowmelt. She liked her work, and she liked their home. They had time for each other because they made it, and they spent that time happily together because they really were so well suited for one another that even doing separate things felt better when they shared space. She liked drinking wine with their (often late) dinners together, and being clean and tucked close to him beneath their sheets each night.

But his face. Her husband’s dear, strong face. And, if she were being honest with herself, her own desires to… to know, what a child of theirs would be like. Very loved, certainly. She wanted the addition of another life in their home. She wanted to love what they could make and nurture. An artist, maybe. A scholar. Baby’s father would love that, she mused with a smile. Perhaps a politician, or a writer, or _anything_ , anything would be fine, even a humble life, so long as it was a happy one. Maybe in the beginning their baby would sleep between them, cocooned in love as a tiny child until he or she was ready to sleep in a nursery.

She stroked the skin of her belly. What would happen to her body? Everyone she knew had such different experiences. She was certain, at least, that Mitsuhide was the kind of man who would worship each change, and do his best to make her comfortable. She suspected he would get off on it, honestly.

Tsumime brushed the hair back from her husband’s forehead and pressed a gentle kiss against the revealed skin.

“I think I’m ready,” she whispered. “I love you.”

She went a little tense, half expecting him to pounce. It was such an interest of his, and he did sometimes wake when she caressed him in his sleep. But this time he lay just as he was, save the flicker of his eyes moving beneath his lids.

“Sweet sleep, beautiful dreamer,” she said quietly, slipping down from her propped elbow, letting her hand fall and rest against his far shoulder. She tucked herself back into the side of his body and closed her eyes, knowing it would be a full day.


	4. Mark the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsumime reflects on some of the time that she and Mitsuhide have been together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mitsuhide's BIRTHDAY!!! Bless us every one.

He was reading his tablet, brows down. Probably a newspaper. The afternoon light coming into the room was soft, and it had taken me a moment to see his expression because it was dim in the shadows. I’d been able to make out the silhouette of his hair before my eyes adjusted and his face became more clear.

My husband was a handsome man with a sweet nature and a keen mind. Sometimes I felt like there was something too perfect about him—he was so unfailingly polite (in public), he had so many details in the endless vault of his mind, his very soul was steady and dependable. Even in private, when he lovingly flayed and reforged my own soul with his burning, he was steady. I hadn’t looked up our astrology but he must be wood or stone. Something trustworthy, solid, enduring. 

His reading glasses did it for me every time. The acuity they added to his already professorial charm never failed to make me smile, and I’d had thoughts of asking him to wear them to bed. Or his study. Or the kitchen. Or anywhere. But he was quick to slip them off when he was finished with papers and screens, and I thought he was sensitive about needing them so I let the matter rest and enjoyed the sight when I could. I’d told him I thought they suited him well, of course, and he’d smiled and inclined his head in his “ _that’s very kind of you_ “ way. I could have grabbed a handful of his button-down and made him look at me and see what I meant, but I had not.

Not yet. I smiled, looking at him from the other side of the shadows of the lounge, and was happy that many things seemed blissful inevitabilities for us. Our life together was a good one. And tonight we’d have a nice celebratory dinner together, take a stroll along the water, and come home and passionately wreck one another. 

He hadn’t heard me enter the room, but the hush of my pashmina sliding off one of my shoulders as I leaned against the doorframe to watch him had his eyes instantly up and looking at me over those glasses. Oh, _oh_. Maybe I’d just ask him to wear them tonight. He always said anniversaries were special, and that look, even as it melted to tender recognition, was doing things to my legs.

“Darling,” he breathed, respectful wonder filling his tone and pose as he rose from the chair, “You look exceptionally lovely.”

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart,” I said quietly. His beautiful smile did to my heart what his assessing look had done to my core: soothed and teased, with all the silken power of a one-word whisper. We smiled at one another like grown up teenagers for a moment, then began to walk to one another. He took off the glasses in a smart pull and pressed them against his chest to close the arms against the lenses. A sigh escaped through my nose, putting itself into the air in hope.

“Dear?” he asked, coming in close as he wrapped the loose end of the pashmina up and around the opposite shoulder.

In response, I only said “I love you,” and put one of my hands over his, pressing it to my collarbone.

“I remember getting you this shawl,” he said gently, looking over the pattern. “It suits your coloring,” he added, touching the tips of our noses together and rubbing gently. Ah, so he was all sweet affection this afternoon. He did sweet so very well.

“I wore it when I interviewed at the University,” I told him, realizing I’d never shared that before. He’d gifted it to me on our third date, when he’d planned for us to have a terrace dinner high above the city.

* * *

 

_It was the night he had asked if he might take my hand as we waited for dessert, and leaned toward the table to cover it carefully as he told me solemnly that he was serious about us. I’d known—Mitsuhide was **always** serious, and he’d been earnest every moment we were together until that date—but it had still been a thrill to hear it. I made it a rule not to date assholes but I had never encountered anyone so forthright or intense about their intentions. _

_I’d flexed my fingers wide under his, watching our hands instead of his face, and then laced them through his, I squeezed my fingertips on the back of his hand, and told him that was something I was very glad to hear. His relief, and then his very subdued panic as I did not echo his sentiments, made me feel warm all the way through dessert and our walk to my apartment in the city. He would never press without explicit permission, without the establishment of some parameter I was still discovering but already knew I could rely on. He had been so endearing the whole walk, valiantly acting as though he were fine and unafraid.  
_

_I’d walked up the stairs of the brownstone’s stoop, holding his hand to bring him to the landing with me. His feet planted a step down, satisfied to wait to leave. I’d had my fun at that point, so I held his eyes as I leaned toward his ear until his cheekbone eclipsed my vision. And I’d whispered, “I have never been so serious about anything in my life, Mitsuhide: I know that I love you.”_

_The shudder of **need** that I could feel through his hand in mine, rolling off his shoulders, calling all his muscles to readiness… was very gratifying. When I straightened to see his face, his expression was so severe he almost looked angry. _

_“I love you, Tsumime,” he said, fiercely.  
_

_I slipped my hand from his before he could squeeze it, and threaded fingers along both sides of his face, into his hair. “I know you do, sweetheart,” I’d said, close enough to his mouth that some of the syllables brought our lips together. And then I pressed them together as I pressed my fingertips against his scalp, and he went rigid, and the shocked little breath he drew in through his nose covered my heart like honey._

_His soul was warring with his good manners there on my steps, his body stiff to trembling. Then he’d drawn another breath and when his arms went around me he was like a different person. Still and sure. He exhaled and pressed back, meeting my mouth firmly._

_We’d said goodnight after one chaste kiss more. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to go home or not, but I managed to get myself inside my apartment, promising to see him tomorrow._

_I couldn’t relax. I paced the back balcony, wishing it were in the front of the building so I could maybe see his back as he walked away. When I moved to the window he was just turning the corner._

_I called a cab. And that was how I was waiting for him, my eyes nervously flitting around and heart hammering, when he walked through the lobby door of his own apartment building. His eyes were shocked, then narrowed, something dark hooking low in my belly and adding to the pull that had brought me there._

_In the quiet of his apartment, he asked, sounding strained, “What do you want?” and I’d answered “To be with you tonight,” and the kiss he gave me then was not chaste at all._

_He confessed in the same fierce tone he’d had outside my door that he coveted my spirit and body and worried he would be selfish. But Mitsuhide loved me so completely, holding my wrists, and my hips, and my face, and my legs, and my waist, and even my hair throughout the night as he struggled to tell me all the ways he wanted me, that he had wanted to tell me he loved me first, had wanted to be in me from the day we’d met, that I felt nothing but well and properly cherished when I fell asleep in his bed, exhausted from orgasms and his masterful fucking._

* * *

 

“I love it when you smile like that,” he said softly, “you look so happy.” He kissed my cheek.

“Clever.” He nudged my face toward the ceiling, pressing his nose into the skin of my throat and humming at my perfume.

“Pleased with yourself,” he said, amused, before the tip of his tongue made a circle in the spot where my jaw joined my neck.

“I’m well pleased, sweetheart,” I managed, but my voice shook. I was caught.

“I’m well pleased, too,” he replied, kissing the wet spot he’d left on my skin. “There is nothing in the world that pleases me more than your company.” One more kiss and he stepped back. Even in the lazy heat of late May, I missed the warmth of his closeness.

We smiled at each other like grown up teenagers again. Need beat between us like the sound of a faraway drum, stalking, confident.

I trailed my fingers low across his waist, my own body thrumming with appreciation of the tightness of his abdomen. “Well then,” I whispered, “I think you’ll love your birthday present, Mitsuhide.”

* * *

 

_When he’d asked if we could be married on his birthday, I’d paused._

_“Forgive me,” he asked, shaking his head at himself, “I know it would be prudent to spread out happy dates on the calendar, but I would like to have this to celebrate every year, the most magnificent and wonderful gift I can imagine.”_

_As I thought about it, he added, in that fierce, shy way of his, “…And I don’t want to marry on your birthday, because I want to spend that day doting on you and only thinking about you from midnight to midnight.”_

_And I blinked, and blushed, and nodded. And kissed him. He was looking entirely too fretful._

* * *

 

His fine nostrils flexed, and he looked almost angry, but I knew better.

“I hope you’ll love your anniversary present,” he whispered in an urgent challenge.

“I love _you_ ,” I said, grabbing at his shirt. “Always.”

His eyes glittered down at me, stare meeting mine and sparking the familiar, delicious flame that always lay in wait between us.

“Happy anniversary, darling,” he said like a warm threat. I shivered and let him see it, but didn’t back down.

“Happy birthday, my love,” I answered. “Please wear your glasses to dinner.”

 


End file.
